Porcelain
by Myrielle
Summary: Some loves you never lose. Some things are just meant to be.
1. Ga Eul

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Summary: Some loves you never lose. Some things are just meant to be._

**PORCELAIN**

My hands touch the clay and I begin to spin the wheel. First cool, and then warm, and warmer still. I focus on maintaining harmony between speed and balance, otherwise everything would fall apart. Not too much pressure on the wrist, as he constantly reminds me. I miss his presence at my side; it has been weeks and if this is my eternity I think sometimes I will lose my mind.

The base begins to wobble and I collect my thoughts quickly. Breathe in, breathe out. Outside, the silence of the night cocoons me as I work. Nowadays I feel safe only at night, when there are no eyes peering, no gifts that pass in and out of the hallways, no servants stationed at the doorways, no maids who follow my every move. Even now they know where I am but this is harmless and in truth, I think my mother realises I must have something to do instead of waiting endlessly for the coming of a day I dread. She pities me but she will not beg my father to release me. Like me, she has no power and even if she did, she would not use it. Beautiful women are assets to be bargained with; we are collected like art.

I never thought myself beautiful until he looked at me. I never thought a man beautiful until I looked at him. Dressed in simple clothes, like an ordinary woman, I had snuck into his home, intent on getting him to apprentice me. Up until then, the enduring love of my life had been art. The cool surface of the porcelain, the patterns that encircled gently like silk chains, the delicate strokes that mapped a lifetime of effort, sweat and tears. He had not known who I was, this great artist who had just moved to this province. It had to be that spring, my first spring away from the capital, away from my parents with only my indulgent nurse and an ancient aunt as a chaperon. It was only when I returned that I realised why my parents had sent me away; they had been busy meeting prospective suitors and writing my life story.

Soft ebony hair, melting brown eyes with midnight irises, strong hands which turned clay into something living and breathing. For the first time I could not focus, even though I knew he agreed to let me into his home because I amused him. It also helped that I had talent too, although I would readily admit that mine is nothing compared to his. Years from now he will be read about, studied, his works displayed in palaces and museums.

I shift my fingers over the body. He likes his vases of a certain size, the neck and body must be in exact proportion. Even as he will be remembered, he will remember me. I want him to have something to look at, to hold on to. In truth, I wish he would forget me. I cannot bear to think of him when he pictures me in the arms of my husband. This has crossed his mind before and for the first time, I found him drunk and incoherent in his house. My elegant, self-possessed lover with a heart that aches in tandem with mine. I am the one sold but not the only one destroyed.

Each day I spend in this vast house is a grain of sand on the beach. I wait only for night when I can return to my one connection to him. Tonight I carve. The edge is sharp, my hand steady once I decide what I want to give him. I create peonies just like the ones I admired in the marketplace and which delayed me on the way to his house. It was the first time I had an inkling that my secret love might be returned. He was irritable, pacing slightly beyond the door and the relief that flashed over his face was so very sweet to me. I was left that day to work on my technique and when I left the shed, I realised there were peonies in the house. There had been none before.

Pain lances through my finger and blood runs into the shallow lines. The bleeding stops soon enough but I cannot remove all the red from the clay. It stares at me, a mirror of my wounds. Still, I have to continue. There is so little time left.

There are carp swimming beneath the falling petals. His voice is in the sound of running water, his reflection what I yearn to see most when I stop beside lakes, when I sit by the running ponds. Since I cannot have letters, I relive my memories because I miss him and I fear losing him a second time. His expression was so faraway that day; he was so quiet as we sat together. My hands were cold because I had not told him the truth, not even when my lessons had stopped but my visits stretched so far into the evenings and early nights that my nurse was threatening to tell my parents. Summer was drawing to an end and I was to return to the capital soon. I had told him as much without giving away my status.

But then I had to in the end. His soft words telling me that I did not have to leave tore my heart and made it sing. My parents would never allow a commoner to marry me, not even one as famous and wealthy as he was.

I dip my brush in the glaze and let the excess drip into the bowl. In the days that followed my confession he disappeared. I could not find him at his house, I couldn't find him anywhere in the town. Working on my pottery caused me to cry incessantly so I painted. At times I hurled the paint on the paper and ripped into it with my brush, ruining the fine hairs. For once I wanted to rebel and I struggled to return to the skin that I had worn so comfortably. I had always known my parents would select my husband and I would be three kinds of fools to believe in any other possibilities now.

This shade of blue always soothes me. If tranquillity had a colour, this would be it. Tonight through the open window the moon shines full. I place the finished vase on a table and let it soak in the moonlight. It glows softly, like my lover's white robes and skin by candlelight. He came in through the door of my aunt's home like a thief in the night and told me that if I would let him, he would steal me away.

A person can give up everything and get nothing in return. I couldn't let that happen to him. I knew what my father would do. He would break Yi Jeong's hands and then kill him to punish me. There have been whispers and rumours at court which I know to be awful truths.

Not an eternity in a lifetime but one night, I tell him. Now that he knows who I am, who my family is, he knows why I am refusing and what I am proposing. He looks defeated, anguish in every curve of his face but he does not stop me when I reach for him. If we can have nothing, we will at least have this.

It is morning now and the vase is gone. I have sent it to his home. As I stand still and let the servants slide my arms into the jacket sleeves, I wonder what he is doing today. The ribbons are carefully tied; they smooth the full skirt carefully and place the shoes in front of me. As I place my feet into them, my first step on the path laid before me, I wonder if he will find the promise I inscribed at the base of the vase.

We must meet again, we have to. I refuse to accept that this fleeting spring and summer is all we will have. Please, I breathe desperately as I wait for the man whom I must accept as husband to arrive.

Some loves haunt for an eternity and I have found mine.

* * *

><p>an: Inspired mostly by Jay Chou's song "Blue and White Porcelain".


	2. Yi Jeong

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Summary: Some loves you never lose. Some things are just meant to be._

**PORCELAIN**

**II. **

He sits there for one long moment, a still silhouette through the glass windows of his private workshop. Outside, the silence of the night cocoons him, letting him focus on the beating of his heart in his ears. This can no longer be denied. It is not inspiration that moves him, nor is it the desire to improve himself. This is urgency spilling over, a gravity that he cannot resist. If anything, he feels this is obsession. Sometimes he wonders if he has lost his mind.

Placing his hands on the clay, he lets its coolness seep into his overheated skin, takes a deep breath and begins to spin the wheel. He knows once he starts, he will not stop until the vase becomes reality. In his mind's eye, he can see it already. Gleaming white and blue, pure perfection and inside, a secret that hangs tantalisingly out of reach. Carefully, he slides his hands against the spinning clay, hollowing out the insides. He is extremely particular about the proportion of the body and the neck; it must be accurate down to a hair's breadth.

Today his father has informed him of his engagement to a girl he knows of but does not know. He always knew this day would come but foreknowledge is not a cure for dread. The news made his gut clench and the hollow feeling he has lived with for as long as he remembers is growing wider. Quickly he realises his wrist is exerting too much pressure and he relaxes it before any damage is done. Collecting his thoughts, he focuses on the task at hand. Although he is compelled to do this, it helps him to forget, becomes a sanctuary of sorts against this troubled day.

He must have peonies. They rest in a vase, tall, slender, heavy with their pale pink and crimson silken petals, filling the air with their fragrance. For some reason, he has always thought she would like peonies. He smiles ruefully. His friends would laugh themselves into fits if they realised that he, the biggest playboy of the group, had remained faithful to a crush he had developed at the age of six. When he had first seen her, he had been so awestruck he had nothing to say. On knees that shook slightly and with eyes that never wavered, he approached. She was so beautiful, her eyes cast down slightly as she studied the fishes that had risen to the surface, as though they too had come to gaze at her. Her skirts were gathered carefully around her, her hair like dark liquid silk against the bejewelled jade pin in her hair. His heart raced and his palms turned sweaty. And then someone stepped in his way, blocking his view of the painting.

Quickly and skilfully, flowers blossom on clay as he carves into the night. The Joseon princess is his secret, something he has never told anyone about before. His father had worried that instead of pursuing pottery, in which his son had already shown a great deal of promise, the boy would become a painter instead. Until the exhibition was over, he had visited the museum everyday just to look at her and ostensibly, the rest of the art works as well. He had learnt very quickly to hide the things he cared about so that no one would take them away or even if they were gone, that no one would see his pain. When his older brother ran away from home to escape the crushing weight of his inheritance, Yi Jeong did not shed a tear although inside, he felt ripped apart. This was what happened when one loved. So at fifteen he closed his heart as best he could.

His phone buzzes before he leaves the room but he doesn't bother to check it. It won't be his friends; they've given up asking him to go out for consolation binges on his impending nuptials. His fiancée does not seem to understand that he doesn't want anything to do with her or the wedding. She's pretty enough but she is not his type. Woo Bin once remarked that there was a pattern to Yi Jeong's women; they even looked vaguely alike. Sometimes he wonders if there is something deeply wrong with him. He is looking for the ghost of a princess laid to rest five hundred years ago in the faces and bodies of the women who throw themselves at him. Dawn though, always leaves him unsatisfied and the doppelganger in tears. Setting his tools down on the table, he turns the vase and begins to carve the last of the images: carp beneath flowers that weep their petals into an endless stream.

The vase makes its debut along with others in his white and blue porcelain collection at the family museum. Just in time to drum up more publicity for the wedding, his father pronounces with satisfaction. Yi Jeong looks at the shadow of a woman called his mother and knows that she will not speak up for him. She stopped years ago. Besides, there is nothing to complain about. The girl is from a family that equals his in wealth and status, he has no plans to stop womanising and once he sires an heir, he can set her aside and life as he knows it will more or less go on. Still, he feels like he has been auctioned off and resentment bubbles violently to the surface as he struggles to press it down. Quickly, he leaves the room but cannot erase the memory of his father's slight but triumphant smirk.

Days before his marriage, he steps into the cool semi-darkness of the museum in a bid to escape from it all. Between his family and hers, everything has been settled and all that is left is for him to show up and perform his duties. Not for the first time does he think of his Joseon princess and he finds his feet have taken him down a path to his collection. That vase was created with her in mind, in truth, for her and for some time it gave him a shred of serenity to cling to.

Yi Jeong finds that he is not alone. He is surprised. The museum will close in five minutes and he thinks that perhaps the woman does not know. He tilts his head slightly; even with her back to him, there is something familiar about her. And like him, she has come to see the vase. Then she turns slightly, suddenly aware of his presence and Yi Jeong feels shock plough through him, knocking the breath from his body.

For one moment the bounds of reality blur. He can smell fresh grass and a whiff of peonies. The sound of running water is crystal clear, as is his voice on the wind.

_Don't go. Stay._

Instead of intricate braids which are pinned up, her hair is unbound and slides over her shoulders as she bows slightly, giving him a small embarrassed smile. Instead of flowing robes she is wearing a pale pink chiffon blouse, a black pencil skirt and carrying a smart looking leather briefcase. But this is his princess, warm and alive, here in the now and in the flesh instead of a haunting enigma trapped in an abyss of paper and ink.

Disconcerted by his silent staring, her smile drops and she takes a step back. "Don't go. Stay," he rushes out the words. "Please." His heart is racing, his palms are sweating and in that moment, Yi Jeong knows again what the years have never quite dimmed, what he knew at six years of age.

This woman belongs to him, and he loves her. He always has.


	3. Infinite

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Summary: Some loves you never lose. Some things are just meant to be._

**PORCELAIN**

**III. **

Her name is Chu Ga Eul and she has just returned from England, armed with a PhD in Art History and an opportunity to teach in one of the most prestigious universities in Seoul. This is her baby, an idea conceived only two days ago to collaborate with the Woo Sung Museum to host an exhibit devoted to women potters through the ages. She has yet to mention it to her senior colleagues and the deans as she never does anything without meticulous research and careful planning. She has to see the place for herself and speak to the curator and managers before drawing up proposals. All that can wait though, because right now, she is visiting the museum for the first time.

Her last stop is an exhibition by the man who will one day inherit the museum. All that she knows about him is from art journals, magazines and the rare mention from her best friend who is engaged to his best friend. It is a contact that she has no intention of using though. Ga Eul hates cheating and in any case, it is his father So Hyun Sub that she will eventually negotiate with.

There is no denying that the heir apparent is indeed a prodigy. His work is flawless. The carvings are imbued with a life of their own, so much so that she feels tempted to reach out and run her fingers over them. Great passion, her professor had lectured. Art takes on a life of its own because the artist has much to give, has surrendered some part of his soul inside his works. Needless to say though, a lifetime of blood, sweat and tears is needed to achieve such a level of skill. Ga Eul recalls in disbelief that So Yi Jeong is only two years her senior. "Ah, life isn't fair," she murmurs, thinking about her own pottery skills. She is good but nowhere as good as him. Her gifts lie more in academia and for that, she must be thankful.

Suddenly, she sees it and everything else fades to black. Transfixed, she walks closer and does something she has never done before. Putting a hand on the glass, she presses her fingertips against the cool surface and stares at the vase with its peonies that weep a river of agony in which carp swim against the tide. The first time she had seen it was in a remote corner of Jeju Island, when she had joined an archaeological expedition that an ex-boyfriend had been involved in. A pottery site had been discovered during the construction of a school and the Archaeological Society had been contacted. It had been a wonderful find; the pottery had been carefully preserved by whoever had buried them and confirmed to be the works of the elusive Joseon prodigy potter, Kim Yi Jeong, who had vanished suddenly after ten years of prominence. Historians had tried in vain to account for his whereabouts for years. Kim Yi Jeong's ceramics had no equal in Ga Eul's eyes, perhaps until today, but what had made the expedition so indelible in her memory was ironically one vase that had clearly not been the artist's work.

It had been buried in a heavy, ornate chest, wrapped in silk bundling. Obviously it had been greatly treasured. Although the work was of good quality, Ga Eul had to admit it that the vase had more value as a historical artifact than a piece of collector's art. Still, there was no faulting the imagination that had gone into it. As she turned over the vase, it was a simple verse at the bottom that had struck her to the core. Not just the promise that seared her heart but the graceful minute script could have passed for hers, right down to the unique upward curl of broad strokes to the right. It was like looking at her own writing and for a moment, all the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose as she held the vase in her hands, seized by a powerful sense of déjà vu. It had taken all her self control and then some not to ask for the vase as the Archaeological Society happily packed and sealed away its great find, leaving her with an aching sense of loss that defied logic and which had lasted for months.

She had not expected to find a perfect double, a twin here. "Not a twin," Ga Eul thinks, shaking her head to dissipate the cloud of memories. The one before her is a refined version, superior in every way. But to have perfectly captured the other artist's vision, the other's heart… "It's impossible." Ga Eul frowns and bites her lip. She is not a superstitious woman but she has the strangest feeling that something more than ordinary is at work here.

Suddenly, she sees a man's reflection in the glass and realises she is not alone. Flushing, she realises she probably is in the way of another visitor. Turning to apologise, she notices how expensively dressed he is. When she looks up, she realises he is still staring at her. It's almost on the tip of her tongue to ask if he knows her because she certainly feels as though she knows him. The sheer illogic of her thoughts makes Ga Eul take a step back, as though to prevent herself from committing any foolishness she might regret.

"Don't go. Stay, please."

Although he sounds slightly anxious, his stunning good looks are not lost on her. This is, Ga Eul decides, the most beautiful man that she has ever seen. Even on her five inch heels, she has to look up at him. And he is coming her way. Swallowing slightly, she wipes her palms on her skirt. Forget So Hyun Sub and the museum collaboration; she is suddenly convinced this is the most important meeting of her life.

…

For once he is at a loss for what to do. Briefly he wonders how his friends would respond but decides that none are suitable options. Ji Hoo would not react even when he finally noticed the girl, Woo Bin would proceed to flatter her into submission and Jun Pyo would simply drag the woman out over his shoulder or by the hair.

Clearing his throat, he walks over to her and offers a hand that he's surreptitiously wiped on his pants. He feels even more awkward than when he approached his first girl; at least he had managed to pretend to be confident. "Hi, my name is Yi Jeong."

He even has the same name as her favourite potter. Is there nothing about this man which she is going to dislike? Realising he is still holding out his hand, she quickly takes it and gives him a firm handshake. "Ga Eul," she says and is relieved that she sounds normal. "I'm sorry if I was in your way."

"Oh no, don't be. I was just passing by." And I'm so glad I did, he finishes silently. Her hand is small and delicate in his but he likes that her handshake is strong. As if on cue, both of them look down at their hands which are still clasped together. Ga Eul flushes and Yi Jeong reluctantly lets go. She does not look unhappy though and he takes that as a promising sign. "So you like the vase?"

Suddenly, she wants to impress him with her knowledge of art and that feeling is completely foreign to her. Don't overdo it, Ga Eul warns herself. He'll know if you show off and you hate show offs. "The workmanship is flawless," she says quietly. "It makes me forget about technicalities and methods. I just want to sit here and soak it all in."

So she had some background in art. Art teacher? Did she practice pottery? He wants to ask all these questions but he waits and tells himself there will be time enough for all that later. For now, he basks in her praise. For once where pottery is concerned, someone else's opinion matters to him.

"It's not the first time I've seen it though. I wonder if the artist saw the original and decided to replicate it." For a moment, his eyes widen and then he pales.

"Original?"

"Yes, the original. The Archaeological Society found it on Jeju island together with Kim Yi Jeong's works and it dates back to the fourteenth century. I didn't think they would ever put it up for display. It didn't even get mentioned when they announced the discovery…" Her voice trails off as she notices how white he has turned. "Yi Jeong?"

He swallows and clears his throat. "I didn't know there was an original."

"How could you be expected to know?" she says reassuringly. "It's not like you are the artist." He gives her a strange look and suddenly Ga Eul has a sinking feeling. Something struggles to the surface of her mind and slowly she starts to connect the dots. This is So Hyun Sub's museum and his son is So Yi Jeong who currently is displaying his latest collection of…. "Blue and white porcelain," she murmurs weakly as she mentally curses herself for being three kinds of fools. "Oh dear, you must be the So Yi Jeong."

So his dreams weren't based on something that had surfaced from the recesses of his imagination. He had dreamed about something real and had been compelled to recreate it. If he hadn't believed in the supernatural before, Yi Jeong was now ready to become a convert. Belatedly, he realises that Ga Eul is apologising. "Don't be sorry," he interrupts. "If you don't mind, I'd like to know more about the vase. Was…Did you notice an inscription on its base?"

Her thunderstruck expression confirms his suspicions. "What did it say?" he asks softly.

The intensity in his eyes is compelling and she cannot bring herself to look away. "Love endures lifetimes. I wait for you, always." Ga Eul wonders why she feels as though she is making a promise instead of merely repeating another's.

Wordlessly, Yi Jeong reaches into his pocket and calls for the curator. He barely notices the man who unlocks the display and reluctantly leaves after being firmly dismissed. "Go ahead, pick it up."

With trembling hands, Ga Eul reaches for the vase, already knowing what she will find. Running an elegant, tapered finger over the script, she reads the vow he has inscribed; it is identical to another written hundreds of years before, right down to the characters used. And just like the latter, this one touches a chord so deep inside her that she feels unravelled. It too rouses a feeling of fierce possession. "How can this be?" The question is meant as much for her as it is for him.

There is no answer that logic can provide. He wonders if Ga Eul is aware of the way she is protectively cradling the vase. Before he can say anything, she turns to him, her eyes searching his. "You know, I don't understand but when I first saw the other vase… I thought…I felt…"

"Yes?" Yi Jeong breathes.

"I felt it was _mine_."

Very gently, he reaches out and takes it from her, setting the porcelain aside. "When I made this, I had a woman in mind. She was a princess of the Joseon period, born in the fourteenth century. I first saw her portrait when I was six and I've never been able to forget her." Without thinking, he raises his hand and runs his knuckles gently over the bridge of her nose, over her cheek. "She looks just like you."

She does not flinch at his touch but closes her eyes instead at the delicate touch. "You have his name," she whispers, struggling to keep her voice steady. "He's the reason I fell in love with ceramics and pursued the arts." She had been ten and it was love at first sight when she had seen Kim Yi Jeong's works on her first trip to the museum. No other art has ever connected with or spoken to her as strongly as his does.

Logic tells Ga Eul that this is too sudden, too much to take in, there is too much that they both do not know. Yet it is with her heart that she reaches for his hand and finds that he meets her halfway. And then she recalls something that causes her hopes to plunge.

"You are to be married."

Yi Jeong knows the consequences of disobeying his father. He will never inherit the museum he loves. He will be stripped of his family connections and disowned. He will not be allowed to go home until he surrenders and walks the path that has been laid down for him by his parents. He knows all this very well and accepts that life will never be as comfortable again.

"Only when you say yes."

"A-are you sure?" She understands full well what he intends to do and the repercussions that will invariably follow. Jan Di and Jun Pyo had suffered at the hands of his angry mother just to remain together. As much as she wants to, she cannot bring herself to talk him out of it. Now that he is here, she cannot imagine living with the absence of him in her life.

Tenderly he squeezes her hand, a gentle ache in his chest as he notes the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Ga Eul-yang, we have been waiting forever. Come to me, come away with me."

It sounds so hauntingly familiar that Ga Eul knows he has asked this of her before. So he has his answer as she leans into him, slips her arms around his waist and lets him hold her so close she can feel the beating of his heart. Now she knows why she has always believed in soulmates.

She feels exquisite, his riddle wrapped in mystery solved, and finally, that terrible hollowness inside him is silenced. Yi Jeong knows he will never let her go again. "Let's leave," he murmurs, nuzzling his cheek against her hair, keeping her hand firmly in his as she steps back.

Ga Eul smiles, looks at the vase and then back at him. He laughs and nods, suddenly feeling lighter and younger than he has in years. "If we can have nothing from here, we will at least have this." Reaching out, she tucks the vase securely in the crook of her arm. "What?"

"Nothing. I could have sworn you've said that to me before though."

"You will have this lifetime to find out."

"And the next," he insists as they walk through the museum towards the exit. He ought to feel regret or sorrow. Instead, he feels as though he has just come home.

"All my lifetimes," she amends, feeling the porcelain warming against her skin as she silently thanks whatever fate it is that has brought them together.

Yi Jeong stops on the steps outside. Above, the sky is deep indigo mixed with blue as the last of the light fades into the west. He wants to etch this moment in his memory. "All my lifetimes," he echoes softly. "I promise."

Then he leans in and kisses her.

…

"And that, children, concludes the lecture of a history of Korean ceramics." With a snap of her fingers, the tour guide caused the hologram to disappear into thin air. The younger kids "oohed" and "ahhed" while the older ones sniffed in derision, partly because their schools had forced them on this educational trip. "Now, who wants to get their hands dirty?" This time, high-pitched squeals of assent were mixed with looks of mild horror. "If you will follow me to the next room, we have some clay and wheels prepared for you. You'll experience pottery making the way it used be done, the old fashioned way…"

The little girl ignored the crowd as it shuffled away. She had been through the tour a couple of times, mostly when she was waiting for her father to finish his work before driving them home. He was the curator of the most important museum in Seoul, a fact that she was immensely proud of. Ever since she had been a toddler, he had been bringing her to his workplace in a bid to inculcate a love of the arts and respect for history in her.

"Never forget Ga Eul ah," he would say while wagging a finger at her, a habit that drove her mother crazy, "we may be living in the twenty-second century now but we all have our roots in the past."

Once she was alone, Ga Eul ran up to the panel, punched in her father's code and unlocked the system controls. "Ceramics, please." Sometimes it felt a little strange to be saying 'please' to a computer but force of habit and good manners would not let her do otherwise. "Selection by artist." A monster list of names popped up and Ga Eul was glad that most basic technology was voice activated. If she had to flip the screens her finger would probably suffer a terrible sprain. "So Yi Jeong. Blue and white porcelain collections. Vases only."

There weren't that many and though she loved all his works, one in particular fascinated her. About twenty mini-holograms popped up and she selected the one she wanted. With an almost inaudible hum, it expanded, shimmering into life. Save for the fact that it was hovering two inches above a solid surface and would flicker if one poked a finger through it, the image looked as real as…well, the real thing.

Dragging up a chair, Ga Eul kneeled on it, resting her elbows on the back, and sighed dreamily as she stared at her favourite piece of art in the whole world. Although she was only nine, she was sure that she would always love this most for the rest of her life. Aside from the fact that it was decorated with her favourite flower, the carp looked so real, almost as though they were actually swimming. It was a superb example of blue and white porcelain, according to her father. But all she knew was that it moved her in a way that nothing else did.

The sound of a small cough told her that she wasn't alone. Turning around, she saw a boy standing near the doorway. He was about her age, or a little older, taller with thick jet black hair and as he came closer, she saw that his eyes were deep brown. "Hi," she quipped. "If you're looking for the pottery workshop it's down the corridor and just around the corner."

He blinked and shifted his gaze to her. "I'm not actually. I come here sometimes just to look at the exhibits."

"All by yourself?" Ga Eul was suitably impressed. Most of her peers would prefer visiting the simulator arcades or the detention room rather than the museum.

"My parents are busy," he shrugged before directing his attention to the hologram. "Who made that vase?"

"This really famous potter called So Yi Jeong. I read that when he died, he insisted on being buried next to his wife and with this in his coffin." Ga Eul waited for the inevitable "eww" or comment about her morbidity but to her surprise, he merely tilted his head and continued looking at the image.

"That's a pity. It's a very fine piece of work."

Ga Eul straightened her spine and for the first time, eyed the stranger with genuine interest. "You know about pottery?"

The boy tugged on his tie and flushed a little. "I know a little." He didn't want to sound like he was showing off although he had this strange desire to impress this girl. If his grandfather heard that there wouldn't be supper for two nights though. As heir to a family that could trace its lineage back to the royal family and several famous artists, he was not allowed to hide his pedigree.

Ga Eul slid off the chair and for the first time, smoothed down her skirt before offering him her hand. "I'm Ga Eul. You want to get some dinner? My father will be done with work in two hours so we can hang out until then."

Swiping his hand on his pants, he gave her a firm handshake. "Yi Jeong, a pleasure to meet you."

"I hope you like chicken feet. Mrs Lee at the cafeteria makes a mean beef bulgogi too—"

"Chicken feet?"

"Aw come on, just try it. I guarantee you'll love it and even if you don't, I'll eat your portion too."

She beamed at him and Yi Jeong, to his immense irritation, flushed some more. Still, he didn't protest when she tugged on his hand and led him out of the room. "Are you always this bossy?"

"Wait till you really get to know me."

For the first time that day, Yi Jeong smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."


End file.
